Friday, April 4, 2008

There is this cloud over Mexico’sImage. There is Frank here, sittingWith his arms crossed on his chest.There is Frank here designing a boatAnd pencil picked up from a draftSupply store. There is Frank sittingIn Europe. There is Ralph here sittingWith a tea kettle on the ground.There is John Q talking to his chattel.

There is this cloud over Mexico’sImage. The cloud was not alwaysThere, or, maybe it was a landmark.Frank was not always here. I thinkHe was in the waterbed all along.Ralph picked fights, and drank, andHe wrote that song. John Q talkedAnd had 40 children who all diedBefore he could explain the cloud to them.

This cloud over Mexico, how do youSay? I think you ruined my life, or byExtension you ruined everyone’s lives.You ruined this poem, anyway.There is no legacy, but there is Nyquil.I think there used to be a gun, and I knowThere were four boys, but now there isOnly one, and there’s a girl.

There used to be this cloud over Mexico.Now it is a small shoe, and that tiny stuffedRaccoon. That is all that is left of Mexico.Grandparents don’t exist anymore, or they do.They sing happy birthday and the marine coreHymn, and that’s nice. They don’t sing toMexico anymore, though. And I still sing happyBirthday, and parts of the marine core hymn,But only in the car, and never in restaurants.